The Poetical Works of Andrew Steel

All troubles o'er, all perils passed away. . Dead !—no, 'tis but a sweet refreshing sleep, Since in the tomb its mighty Spoiler lay, Who conquering rose; and will He leave his

own Blood-ransomed trophies, jewels of his crown?

Ah no! that Prince, omnipotent to save, Their manumission by his own secured; Though Death may still his sable standard wave, Soon o'er the rayless empire of the grave A glorious, vivifying morn shall rise: Forth shall they come, as gold which has en-

dured The crucible, to wing yon azure skies, In bowers of immortality to dwell; Hence all with her for ever now is well.